Thursday, July 19, 2007

Dew In the Harvest Moon

To search for the root of youthe tendril of your ecstasyis the reason for muscularityin a tongue.

Yet it tastes on its wayfinds the saline in the succorthe sugar in your sap-makingcambium.

My tongue as a tapas a means of productionof confectionerycause celebremakes me a farmer, a forestera man who reaps what he sowsand toils in fieldsonce dead.

And on this evein this reprievethis unrequited requiemof the harvest moonI will lay aside the scytheand the plowand instead look to youdeliciously organicand till...and till...until nothing remains fallow.

4 comments:

Hi there, :)Congratulations again on your win in the lion circle contest! Now it's time to get a book voucher to you. Could you please send me an email to let me know which Amazon site you would like to redeem the voucher at ie: amazon.com, amazon.co.uk, amazon.fr, etc. I need your up-to-date email address plus the Amazon site of your choice. The voucher can only be redeemed at the site you choose and this can't be changed afterwards. Send your email to: seamuskearney@gmail.comYou may have already sent these details but please send them again because my normal email account (at caramail) is out of action/unable to be accessed because of an upgrade. Thanks, and congratulations once again, Seamus.

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Welcome to "When I Wax"-- a place to escape the pedants and wax poetic, or even wax artistic.

The mythologist Joseph Campbell was asked by an interviewer how a regular person could preserve his sense of the mythic when so many feel too besieged by the claims of every day living. He said, "You must have a place to which you can go, in your heart, in your mind, or your house, almost every day, where you do not know what you owe anyone or what anyone owes you. You must have a place you can go to where you do not know what your work is or who you work for, where you do not know who you are married to or who your children are."

When I Wax is such a place for me. Blogging drafts of poetry and other sundries is like practice fly-casting on the front lawn... it may look silly, but it's effective...

Thank you

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
George Gordon ByronThe Destruction of Sennacherib